


6:45

by ZhoraKys



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZhoraKys/pseuds/ZhoraKys
Summary: Lupin's faked his death plenty of times before. So why does this one feel so real?
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII & Jigen Daisuke & Mine Fujiko, Jigen Daisuke/Arsène Lupin III
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	6:45

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by Firewater.

0  
Lupin's yammering on about something, some woman or some mysterious jewel somewhere, as he takes the wheel from Jigen. The oil truck they're driving handles like, well, an oil truck, and Lupin thinks he can do better than the gunman. Jigen pushes his hat down and presses himself further into the middle of the banquette, his shoulder pushing into Goemon's. 

It's always like this. Jigen doesn't know why he ever expects anything different. They work out a plan in which Jigen drives the truck, and then halfway through the execution Lupin always remembers that he's the better driver. 

Which, he is. But maybe he wouldn't be if he gave Jigen a chance.

They're doing this the easy way, which means when they get to the parkade booth it's shooting out the security cameras and stealing the two men's uniforms, leaving them bound and gagged under the booth counter and abandoning the truck on the first floor. 

Then it's running down to the basement parking levels and shooting the locks off doors, racing against the alarm that's undoubtedly already been tripped. 

By the time the loot's all in the truck and Goemon's parked it four blocks away Jigen's already on the roof, testing a zipline that they've run between this tower and the next, reminding himself that there are many more frightening things in this world than heights. He calls to Lupin and Lupin says _go_ and he shrugs and grabs on, thinking he ought to start working out harder as someone opens fire below him and he can't find the strength to hang on with one hand and shoot with the other.

Then comes the sound, and the heat, and he looks back just as he reaches firm footing on the next building. His vision goes white as an explosion, all smoke and heat and light bulging outward, sends great expanding blisters of annihilation careening into the sky, taking chunks of concrete and glass and shrapnel with them. The whole thing reaches its terminus in a handful of seconds and collapses, a pillar of dull smoke blending with the night sky, flames licking at what's left of the building.

Jigen knows he's a sitting duck but all of a sudden he can't move. 

1  
Fujiko is inconsolable when they reach the safehouse. Goemon too, in his way. Opposites of expression, same grief. Jigen, he wants to throttle both of them, tell them that they're being idiots, that it didn't happen, that what he saw with his own eyes was a trick of the light. He pours himself whiskey and watches as the ice cubes melt into it, turning the amber a paler shade of yellow. Goemon is muttering something to Fujiko, and at length her sobs fade to a subdued but continuous whimper, balled up tissues collecting on the coffee table. Jigen sits on the sofa and stares at the door, waiting for Lupin to burst through.

Eventually the sun rises. 

He doesn't know what time it is, or how long he's been sitting there, when Goemon says he's going to try to get some sleep and Jigen thinks that being unconscious sounds like the best possible scenario right now. He follows Goemon to the room they share and lays down on the twin-sized mattress where he'd slept the previous night, not bothering to take off his clothes or even loosen his tie. He stares at the ceiling, wishing vaguely that Goemon would crawl onto his mattress and press himself against Jigen. It doesn't happen. Jigen lets his finger glide over the magnum. Fully loaded. Like that's some comfort. 

It's afternoon when he's woken up by the sound of sirens outside the window. He jolts up, grabbing his gun even as he knows there's no danger. Goemon's bed is empty, the sheets neatly arranged. Jigen finds the kitchen deserted and Fujiko sitting on the sofa in the living room, smoking, with a blank expression on her face. Something about her looks porcelain fragile; Jigen thinks if he reached out to touch her hand she might just turn to dust. So he doesn't. He makes breakfast, eats two bites, and tosses it into the trash after it goes cold. 

"We have to leave here," Fujiko says without preamble, from the sofa. "Things are getting too hot."

"Where's Goemon?"

"He left. Didn't say where he was going."

Jigen's stomach turns. He lights a cigarette, thumb catching painfully on the lighter. He wants to toss it out the window, but he's out of matches. Lupin always kept a pack in his breast pocket, always had them on hand.

Fujiko stands suddenly, pressing the butt into the ashtray like she's trying to kill a spider. "I can't see you for a while."

He pauses before speaking, wondering exactly what she means by this. "I know."

She turns to look at him for a moment, then she heads down the hallway. A moment later she reappears with her suitcase, donning a pair of sunglasses. 

"Take care, Jigen."

He only nods. 

***** 

He sits at the table for two hours, then stands up and paces for another 45 minutes. At four he tries to eat again, then he cleans his gun, then he tries to jerk off but can't get into the headspace, keeps being overwhelmed with some heavy sense of _wrongness_ , and lies on the bed for a while in his socks and boxers, smoking. 

Goemon doesn't come back. Jigen stares at the empty bed until it's dark and then he packs up his things and gets a cab to a municipal airport. 

2  
Two months later, Fujiko's sitting across from a white-haired man with striking grey eyes and a chiseled face. His suit is the colour of deep ocean water, and his hands tremble ever so slightly as he stirs a single cube of sugar into his tea. 

"Are you certain about this, Fujiko _ma cher_?" 

"Oui," says Fujiko with a put upon smile. "Je veux -- non, attends, je _dois_ te marier."

"Mais, je suis un viel homme."

"L'âge c'est seulement un nombre, mon cher."

_Thirty-seven. Arsène Lupin III was thirty-seven when he died._

The only number Fujiko's really concerned about is the amount in this guy's bank account. 

*****

The wedding is an unceremonious affair -- normally Fujiko convinces her marks to go all out, lavish weddings being surprisingly good grounds for meeting future suitors, even as the bride. Some people are more perceptive than others, and Fujiko has always been good at using this to her advantage. 

This time, though, she's not feeling particularly festive. They go to the courthouse and sign the papers, and afterward they drive out to the country where he owns a vineyard. She buys a new dress for the occasion, simply because all the nice dresses she owns smell like smoke and a faint hint of someone else's cologne. 

_Les viels hommes_ , like this one, all they really want is someone to talk to. In an evening Fujiko learns that her mark had been married, once, to a respected naval officer, but the union had faltered under the pressure of the officer's job; the need to keep up appearances. 

She learned that the officer had been killed in a training exercise twenty years prior. 

She almost asks, _what is it like? To have lost someone so long ago?_

_Does it still hurt?_

But she doesn't. 

3  
Goemon is nursing sake in a cafe in Kyoto when a woman approaches him. She looks young, at first, but when she gets closer he can see that she must be around his age. He looks at her, opening his mouth, trying to find a way to ask the obvious question in a way that won't seem rude. 

"Sir, I… I couldn't help but notice your clothing."

"My… clothing?" Goemon looks down at himself. He's dressed in the exact same thing he always wears, loose hakama and kimono, sandals on his feet. 

"Well," the woman blushes and Goemon feels something take hold inside his chest. "It reminds me of something. My grandfather was a swordsmith. I've seen so many photos of men wearing similar outfits, old clients of my grandfather's, or friends… I just… I've never seen it in person and I wanted to take a closer look. I'm so sorry if I'm imposing."

"No!" Goemon says it quickly, nearly tips over his little sake cup as he turns to look at her properly. "I would… like to hear more about your grandfather."

*****

Her name is Ayako. A month later, he kisses her under a cherry tree on a deserted street corner. That evening, sitting cross-legged on the futon in the bachelor apartment he's rented for his stay, he thinks briefly how Lupin would have teased him for it. He wonders how Jigen would have felt. There's a twinge of something, but he pushes it away somewhere deep inside. 

4  
Jigen spends a month in Tokyo, drinking so much that the nights blur together and the days don't really seem to exist. One morning he finds himself sitting on the floor of his apartment, facing the horizon as six AM sun peeks over the rooftops and distant mountains. And suddenly he feels like he's been punched in the gut, and it all comes crashing back, everything that he's worked so hard to kill with the booze and the drugs and occasional bouts of mindless sex in bathrooms and alleys. 

A wracking sob, embarrassingly loud, escapes him and he curls forward onto the wood floor, letting himself fall. He stays there, weeping, oscillating between self-conscious mortification and despair at the fact that there's no one there to witness this, for the better part of an hour. When the sunlight begins to feel warm he gets up and washes his face and lights a cigarette and makes up his mind to leave. 

So he's in an airport in Milan when the urge overtakes him and he scrolls through his contacts to find Fujiko's number. Or, the number that was Fujiko's two months ago. Doubtless she's had it changed. Almost no point in trying, really. 

Jigen presses the call button. 

It rings four times, almost enough for him to think better of himself and hang up, but the fifth ring gets cut off and on the other line he hears a husky, feminine voice say "hello?"

"...Fujiko?"

"This is Fujiko, who is this?"

So she'd deleted his number. Well, he can't exactly blame her for that.

"It's Jigen."

There's a long pause. "Daisuke?"

"The one and only," he says in a hollow voice.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't contact me."

Jigen feels like he's been slapped. Frantic, he says, "you said we couldn't see each other for a while. You didn't say anything about contact."

"You of all people should know how dangerous this is."

"Me of all people? What… what does that even _mean_ , Fujiko? We're the same kind of goddamn people." Jigen tries in vain to tamp down the anger as he feels it rise in his throat.

"You know what I mean. The police… the feds… they're still all looking for us."

"And so _fucking_ what!? The cops have always been after us. It was never such an issue. Never." He can almost hear her opening her mouth to argue and he won't let her. "I'll tell you what I think, Fujiko. I think you're just afraid to admit that you… that you…" Jigen loses his nerve, his train of thought.

"That I _what_ , Jigen? That I'm scared? That I'm tired? That I fucking wake up every morning and forget… forget for a second that Lupin…" her voice falters at the name. "I can't… Jigen, I have to go."

"Why, Fujiko?"

"You _know_ goddamn well why!"

"Oh, don't give me this again, I--" there's a click

and she's gone

and Jigen's alone again. 

5  
Fujiko thinks for a few days that she's going to have to fuck the divorce lawyer to swing things in her favour, but eventually she gets off with what's _rightfully_ hers -- the car, the deed to a summer mansion in Nice, and €500,000 wired directly to an offshore account. 

The mark, he just looks a bit sad. She thinks to herself that he knew, he knew the whole time, but maybe he was hoping he was wrong. 

Fujiko wants to laugh. _Men like you, you're never wrong._ As she leaves him for the last time, there's a bitter taste in her mouth. 

*****

It's always the point right after the job is done when she feels the worst. The hard part is over, but the money's not in her hands yet, and she can't do anything but wait. She's not good at planning far ahead, never has been, has spent a lifetime catching the future in two-week handfuls, never looking much past that. In this line of work, it helps not to have much concept of a future. 

She gathers herself and checks her accounts. When everything's confirmed and squared away she books herself a penthouse suite with a private pool. Under the water, silence pressing into her skull, she feels almost normal. 

Surfacing, she keeps expecting to be bothered by someone. 

She doesn't know what time it's supposed to be in Japan. She supposes she's not really thinking about that at all, later, as she sits down on the hotel bed in her bathrobe and scrolls through her contacts and finds Ishikawa. 

Ishikawa Akane  
Ishikawa Chisato  
Ishikawa Eiji 

Ishikawa Goemon

Her finger hovers over the name for a moment before she makes her decision. It rings, and rings, and rings, and then stops. He hasn't set up a voicemail because of course he hasn't.

She sits in the dark for a moment or two, feeling not much of anything, when the phone lights up again. He's calling her back. 

For a moment, she hesitates. She shouldn't have called in the first place. She doesn't know what she'll say. But then she thinks how long it's been since she saw Goemon, heard his voice… she picks up the phone and holds it to her ear. 

"Fujiko?"

His voice is as thick and deep as it always was, and Fujiko is struck with how badly she wants to be next to him right now. It never occurred to her just how safe she'd felt with him. How he'd been the only man she'd ever known, really, who paradoxically wanted to be with her without wanting to fuck her. 

Or maybe that was just her imagination.

"Goemon."

"What's happening?"

 _I don't know_ , Fujiko thinks.

"Nothing, I…" she'd hoped that the words would come to her, once she was on the line, but her mind is still painfully empty. "I wanted to hear your voice," she says finally, and it's the truth, not that it matters.

"You… oh."

"Goemon… where are you? Are you still in Japan?"

"Yes. I am in Kyoto. Or, rather… just outside of Kyoto. In a small town."

"What are you doing there?"

"Mm. Meditating. Studying."

"That's good." Fujiko swallows. Everything she says sounds suddenly lame, half-baked. "Have you… um. Have you heard from Jigen?"

"Jigen?" Goemon's voice cracks, or maybe Fujiko just imagines it. 

"Yes. Has he… tried to contact you?"

"No."

"Oh."

A long silence lays itself out between them. Fujiko thinks that she should feel frantic, anxious, but somehow she's only resigned to the situation, knowing that Goemon will hang up the phone and she'll still be alone in this hotel room, like she was before she called. 

"I left without saying goodbye. To him."

"What?"

Goemon clears his throat. "After… the accident. The next day I… I left. I didn't say anything to Jigen. I couldn't bear to say goodbye, so I said nothing at all. I took the route of a coward. I dishonoured myself."

Fujiko wonders vaguely if Goemon is drunk, to be spilling like that, to _her_ , but then she thinks if it's nine PM in Paris it must be morning in Japan so that can't be. The question of Goemon slipping so far into such lascivious habits seems unimaginable. 

"You didn't say goodbye to me, either," she says, and as soon as she does she regrets it.

Goemon's voice is small when he replies, "I didn't think you'd care."

He's got a point. Fujiko didn't care, at the time. Or at least that's what she's been telling herself since that morning. She wonders what that twisting pain is in her chest, now, when Goemon says it. 

"I…"

She hears a voice on the other line. 

"I'm sorry Fujiko, I have to go."

"Goemon!"

"...yes?"

"...goodbye."

"Goodbye, Fujiko."

The receiver clicks. 

She sits in the silence and the darkness of the hotel room for maybe five, ten minutes before she shakes her head, stands up, and spits under her breath, " _Men!_ " 

6  
Ayako makes him happy, for a while. A few weeks of sleeping next to her and his dreams are filled with the smell of her hair and the dark gold of her skin, tastes and sensations that don't remind Goemon of anything in the past, of anything at all, really. 

She's too good, and he knows it. He tries to tell her one evening, over a simple dinner of fish and rice that he'd insisted on preparing, secretly so he wouldn't spoil the memory of something she'd cooked. 

"I am not a good person, Aya," he says tentatively.

"Huh?" She looks up at him, and smiles. "How can you say that after you just cooked us dinner?"

"I'm serious. You must know."

"...you are serious. What… what are you talking about, Goemon?" There's apprehension in her eyes, but also a genuine inquisitiveness -- he knows he's been overly cagey about his past, and he knows she'll probably interpret this as an effort to get closer, the exact opposite of what he wants. 

"I… I've done terrible things. Illegal things. I've… hurt people."

"Hurt… people?"

Goemon nods.

Ayako takes a bite of food and chews slowly, looking past Goemon into the little kitchen behind him. They're cross-legged on the floor, the low wood table offering no real barrier between them.

"The people you hurt… did they deserve it?"

Goemon frowns. _Did they_? Has he ever actually asked himself this question, or has he simply shoved it away, convincing himself that he didn't need to ask it, because _of course they did?_

"Yes," he says. He can't tell if he's lying to her or to himself.

It's a long time before Ayako says anything. When she does, she holds his gaze, her dark brown eyes looking grave. "Goemon… I don't care who you were. What matters is who you are now."

"Who... do you think I am now?"

"Hm… you're someone who wants to do the right thing. You're someone who's trying."

"You think this is true?"

"Do you love me?"

He's startled by the frankness of the question. It's been two... no, three months, and they haven't broached the subject. He searches inside himself, doesn't want for an answer. 

"Yes," he says simply. It's the truth. 

"Would you hurt me?"

"No! Never, Aya."

"Well. Then." She starts to stand, gathering dishes, but he grabs her sleeve. 

"Wait--"

"I love you, Goemon."

He releases his grip and stares up at her. 

*****

They make love frantically, both understanding the gossamer fragility of the moment, of their place together in time and space. Goemon could get up and leave, and Ayako could change her mind about him being a good person, about him being worthwhile. They may love each other, but each is old enough and smart enough to know that love is _never_ enough, will never be enough, and each could discover tomorrow that the feelings were merely cobwebs that needed clearing, to be swept up in a swift wind. Goemon presses his face into her hair when he comes, on top of her, holding her down like he can capture her that way, secure her for another moment. As pleasure reaches its sharpest, most agonizing peak he's somewhere far away, in the back of a car, staring at the man in the passenger's seat. 

Hours after, when Aya is sleeping next to him he jolts awake and in a half-asleep state gets up out of bed and finds his phone and dials Jigen's number. 

The line rings, then goes to voicemail. Goemon doesn't have the heart to leave a message.

7  
Jigen watches the phone as it lights up, and stares at Goemon's name. He's in a pub in Vilnius, not drunk yet but getting there. His entire body aches with need that he hasn't been able to fully conceptualize since the last time he saw Goemon, but he can't bring himself to pick up. What would he say? What could he say? 

He convinces himself he's angry at Goemon, and the fact that the samurai doesn't leave a message only adds fuel to that flame. 

He slams some cash down onto the bar and leaves, walking back to the ground floor apartment that he's renting. He sits and smokes for a while, growing increasingly restless, then gets up and takes a shower. He turns the water up until it's nearly scalding, and when he finally comes out, dripping, his skin is flushed and hot to the touch. He goes to bed with wet hair and passes out almost instantly, as though his body can hear his desperation to be unconscious. 

The morning is slate grey and cool, the first tendrils of autumn creeping in. He gets up and begrudgingly checks his phone. 

No message from Goemon, but a text from an unknown number. 

[Come back to Tokyo. We need to talk.]

Jigen frowns and wracks his brain, trying to think of who he even knows in Tokyo anymore. Anyone he can think of who would send him a text like this is dead, now. Unless, of course, it's someone he _doesn't_ know, yet, who's trying to get him in their court. He chews his lip and sits down. He's in need of a job, that's for certain. He's wasting away, doing nothing, and he knows it. The magnum's on the bedside table and he thinks about how long it's been since he used it and he feels suddenly impotent, useless, old. Yes, a job would be good. 

_But what if it's a trap?_ He's been set up before but he's always had Lu… well, someone to bail him out. He's shaky, now, and he's not confident in his ability to dig himself out should things get hairy. 

_Then again, what do I have to lose?_

He looks around the apartment. Unmade bed, empty cups and old newspapers littering every table, ashtrays packed with butts, some still smoking. He hasn't opened the curtains in days, and though he can't perceive it himself he can imagine the smell of the place. There's nothing in the fridge but a few cans of beer and a couple questionable half-finished takeout containers. 

He looks at the text again. Sent four hours ago. It's 11 AM here, which would make it around five PM in Tokyo. He types out a response.

[Address?]

8  
Fujiko's watching her next mark flirt with the daughter of a Norwegian duke (eighth in line to the throne) when she gets the text. She's had two glasses of champagne and has to remind herself that it would be absolutely out of character for Goemon to be texting her at a time like this. She clutches at her pearl necklace, then realizes what she's doing and almost laughs to herself. 

Her mark, Lady Angela von Weidergäst, stumbles toward her. 

"Fraulein! _Fraulein_!" Lady Angela is a loud, unabashed sort and Fujiko has to admit that she's developing an affection for the woman that could quickly become dangerous. She picks at one of the sequins on her bodice. 

" _Hallo_ , Lady Angela, is it? I don't believe we've been introduced yet."

Angela beams, revealing a tiny scrape of crimson lipstick that's rubbed off on her teeth. Fujiko loves a good hot mess. 

"The duke seems convinced that you're a distant cousin of mine."

Fujiko laughs genuinely. "I certainly hope not," she says, working a slightly husky drawl into her voice, drawing her fingers up her décolettage and making certain that the Lady can see the freshly painted acrylic nails on all but the index and middle fingers. 

"Why's that?"

Standing, Fujiko takes her mark's hand and leans in close. "Because I'm not in the habit of kissing my cousins."

*****

It's not until much later that Fujiko remembers the text. She sits up in bed next to Lady Angela, who's snoring peacefully, quite unaware of what's so far gone missing from the safe behind the painting next to the door that she thinks no one knows about. Worried about waking the woman, Fujiko scurries into the bathroom and shuts the door discreetly. As she clicks on her phone screen she gets a glimpse of herself in the mirror -- naked and underlit with the blue glow of the display she looks gaunt and alien. She stares a moment more, not daring to look at her face lest the shadows there frighten her.

The text is there, the same. The number's blocked, so there's no chance of tracing it without specialized equipment. Fujiko tries for a while to read into the syntax, the word choice, but there's not near enough to go on. 

Just who would need to talk to her? She has many contacts in Tokyo, but none of the ones she trusts would have the gall to ask her to drop everything and catch a flight, especially for an anonymous inquiry.

Except

But she pushes _that_ thought right back into the dark corner where it came from.

_What have I got to lose?_

The Lady Angela is still sound asleep and will be for several more hours, and in the morning she'll wake up and find that Fujiko has made coffee and left a note with a lipstick print and a spritz of perfume and she won't notice the three heirloom antique watches missing from the drawer in her walk-in closet until the evening, maybe even the next day if Fujiko's lucky.

She sits on the edge of the tub and types, [fine, but you'll pay for the flight.]

9  
Ayako seems to understand when Goemon tells her he has to leave for Tokyo. She seems to understand when he tells her, in a stern voice, that she must not come with him. But it's like a knife straight through the heart, the look she gives him when he promises he'll be back. 

"Don't," she says quietly, and Goemon suddenly understands something about her that he hadn't quite got before, and feels like a liar and a hypocrite for saying it even though he genuinely wants it to be true. 

He opens his mouth to speak again then thinks better of it, instead simply kisses her, lingering in the taste of her lips and the smell of her hair for as long as he reasonably can. Then he turns and he starts walking and he doesn't look back until after he's on a train, and when the moment comes all he can see are rows and rows of men in shirts and ties and occasional tourists and children. 

The address he was given is in a skeezy neighbourhood, the kind of place with narrow streets and vending machines in dark corners and men in expensive but ill-fitting suits stumbling drunkenly out of bars that look more like residential properties. 

Goemon isn't exactly out of place here, but nonetheless he feels a twinge of self-consciousness every time one of the bar patrons gives him a kind of cautious, knowing glance. He thought he was past this. Wasn't he past this? 

He walks right past the entrance at first -- it's set in a little and the address is painted not on the door but on a paper lantern hanging next to the door from a little bracketed hook. He thinks of knocking, then decides it's not that kind of place. 

He opens the door. 

Inside, the air is thick and heavy with smoke and the smell of beer and whiskey. There's a narrow bar and three small tables, shelves lined with ostentatiously expensive bottles of sake though Goemon has an inkling that no one here is drinking the stuff. His eye is drawn to a fiery-red Hannya mask screwed to the wall above another doorway, obscured by hanging cloth. His gaze drifts to the table just below and to the left of the mask, and settles on the lone man sitting there. 

He's wearing a hat that obscures most of his face. The cigarette smoke trailing up from his mouth does the rest, but Goemon immediately recognizes that beard, that nose, the sharp, lanky limbs clad in that understated but well-tailored jacket and slacks. 

Goemon very nearly collapses to the floor. 

He steps closer. 

"...Jigen?"

It's a second before the other man registers his presence, but when Jigen does he turns, tilting his hat up just enough that Goemon can see his eyes. 

The cigarette falls out of his mouth. 

"Goemon!"

They stare at each other like idiots for a few seconds and then Jigen stands and throws his arms around Goemon, his fingers digging into Goemon's back through the fabric of the kimono. Jigen's voice is thick and tremulous when he says, "is that a katana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Goemon is struck by the absurdity of hearing such a line uttered by a man who sounds on the verge of tears. He bursts into laughter, and the laughter has an unfortunate edge of hysteria to it that gets the attention of the three or four other bar patrons who are within earshot. 

Jigen _is_ crying now, and he sits back down and finds his cigarette with a shaking hand. 

"Sit down, sit down."

Goemon does so.

"Jigen, I…"

It all comes rushing back to him at once and he has to grip the edge of the table to keep from tumbling into it. _I never said goodbye._ At once he can barely look at Jigen. 

"What?"

"I… I should have said something. Before I left."

He looks up and meets Jigen's eyes and sees a cascade of emotions flickering across them. Regret… anger… sorrow… but then the eyes soften and Jigen tilts his hat forward to hide them like he can't bear to be on display any longer. 

"Goemon…" he pauses and takes a drag of the smoke. "I don't… blame you for it."

"It's not about blame. It was a failure on my part. Objectively."

"You don't get to talk about fucking _failure_ , Goe." Jigen's voice sounds strained as he continues. "I was on the roof when it… when it…" he shakes his head. "I've been going insane, thinking in circles about it, thinking if there was a moment when I could have… _done something…_ "

"You did all you could."

Jigen wants to argue with the man, but something deep inside him breaks and relief floods in. It's fragmentary, slight, but he nevertheless feels better hearing these words of forgiveness from Goemon. 

"Did I?" He says anyway. "Maybe I should have told him from the start that it was a stupid plan."

"They were all stupid," says Goemon. He goes red in the pause, and then Jigen breaks out into laughter, strained at first and then raucous, and soon the two of them are nearly doubled over in hysterics. 

_God_ , it feels good to laugh. Jigen had very nearly forgotten what it was like. 

Their laughter is interrupted by a woman approaching the table. She's clad in black leather, a biker's get-up. Jigen recognizes her first. 

"Fujiko?"

"Jigen, Goemon. I see you're already getting on well."

"Just… reminiscing about an old friend," Goemon says, and his eyes sting curiously as he says it. 

She sits down and looks at both of them. For a moment no one knows what to say. Then Fujiko starts crying.

Goemon puts an arm around her. He's conscious they're causing a scene but for once it doesn't matter to him. This is more important than his pride. This strange reunion, this outpouring of emotion. These two people. 

After a few minutes of weeping into his kimono Fujiko calms down and wipes her eyes, dabbing flecks of mascara off the skin under her eyes, now reddened and puffy. "I missed you two."

"We missed you, too, Fujiko," says Jigen, and for once in his life he means it. Some part of him wonders if things will return to how they once were, but he has a hard time imagining the kind of petty animosity that he and Fujiko once shared. She is, after all, the closest living link he has to Lupin. 

"Were we all brought here by the same text?" Goemon asks, after a short lull.

"If you're asking, then I guess so. Two weeks ago, from a blocked number?"

Fujiko nods. "I'm guessing someone's burner phone."

"Neither of you figured out who it was?"

Goemon and Fujiko exchange a brief look before shaking their heads. 

"What does it say about us, that we all dropped everything to come back?"

Fujiko seems taken aback by the question at first, but then her expression softens.

"Our destinies are intertwined," offers Goemon. 

"Guess we just can't get rid of each other," muses Fujiko.

Jigen slams his hand on the table. "Well, I don't know about this job but I think we have some drinking to do."

"Amen," says Fujiko, still wiping her face.

Jigen hails the bartender and a moment later the muscular, black-clad man returns with three glasses and a bottle, before bending to wipe down the table next to them. Jigen pours two fingers into each glass then raises his own and says, somberly, "To Lupin."

"To Lupin," Fujiko and Goemon say in unison.

There's a flicker of movement in Fujiko's peripheral vision as she takes a sip. By the time she puts the glass down it's too late; the bartender has a gun pressed into her temple. 

"Woah, Woah!" Jigen's on his feet and drawing his magnum in a second. "What's your problem, bud?"

"Did you say _Lupin?_ " The bartender hisses. The barrel of the gun rattles against Fujiko's skull, making her flinch. 

Goemon's also standing now, Zantetsuken half-drawn, the exposed blade shining hungrily.

Jigen glances between his two companions before answering.

"I did. What's it to ya?"

"You're working with him." For a moment Jigen can see gears turning behind the bartender's eyes. He's having a hard time processing the information he's just recieved, himself. _Working_ with him? Present tense? It's been nearly six months since the accident, and Jigen had figured that every crime syndicate in the developed world would have heard the news and thrown their parties weeks ago. 

"We're not working with him," says Goemon. 

"He's _dead,_ " spits Fujiko. Saying it out loud for the first time is like coughing up blood, but she buries the emotions for later. 

"Is he?" The barkeep narrows his eyes and straightens. 

Jigen's finger is trembling on the trigger but he maintains control. He could have sworn there were other patrons here just a few moments ago, but now the four of them are the only ones in the room.

As he thinks this, though, three more men burst in through the door. They're all built like tanks and dressed in suits that look like they cost more than all the alcohol in this bar. One of them flings a half-burnt cigarette at the bartender, and Fujiko shrieks as the bartender's control falters and a single bullet buries itself in the wall just behind Goemon. 

"Gendo Watanabe! We're here to collect!"

The bartender, who must be Gendo, wheels around and points his still-smoking gun at the speaker, the largest of the three thugs. He has a wicked-looking scar in the place of one of his eyebrows, and a silver cross dangling from one earlobe. 

"What? Collect _what?_ You dumb motherfuckers've got the wrong place."

"Don't be cute, Gendo. We know he's back there."

"I don't know who you're talking about," said Gendo. His voice has fallen, though. He's a bad liar. 

Jigen eyes Goemon. The samurai gives him the briefest of nods. 

The thugs move in. Two of them have guns but the third -- the smallest, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a snake running from the crown of his head to the back of his ear -- pulls out a blackjack and begins whirling it in front of him, making deep, cracking dents in the bar counter and smashing bottles of alcohol and seltzer, sending a cloud of cloying vapour into the air to mingle with the haze of cigarette smoke. 

Jigen gestures quickly with the magnum. He leaps up and skids along the bar as he fires, catching one of the two gun-wielding thugs in the leg. The other one gets off two shots before Jigen takes him out, a perfect bullseye, centre forehead. Behind him, Goemon jumps off the nearest table and flicks Zantetsuken's blade across the path of the blackjack. The fabric cuts neatly, sending a lump of melted iron careening in an arc across the room to shatter the Hannya mask above the rear doorway. The tattooed man's shock gives the samurai enough time to press his blade against his adversary's neck. Jigen, next to him, is standing with one heel pressed into the other thug's chest, the magnum pointed squarely at his forehead. 

The commotion provides enough of a diversion for Fujiko to pull her little Luger and press it into Gendo's neck. Jigen sees it and smiles -- he'd always thought of the Luger as a glorified BB gun, but in close quarters like this it could do more than enough damage.

"So… Gendo. May I call you Gendo?" Fujiko smiles. "I'm gonna call you Gendo." The barkeep grunts. "Despite that Oscar-worthy performance, it seems you know exactly who these assholes are talking about. So while you're spilling, why not tell us as well?"

Gendo shakes his head. "Fuck you."

"How rude. Is this what you call customer service?"

"I don't even know who you people are. This has nothing to do with you, so please. Get out. Consider the drinks on the house."

"We were called here for a job," says Jigen. "I don't know about your line of work, but in mine, this looks a hell of a lot like a job. Who's back there?"

Fujiko presses the Luger into Gendo's neck. He coughs. " _Fine._ Jesus. Go find out for yourselves."

Jigen looks at Goemon and Fujiko, then shrugs. He grabs the gun from the thug on the floor, empties the clip and tosses it away. The thug only moans and rolls over, clutching at his bleeding leg. Fujiko leads Gendo toward the back doorway, and Goemon nudges the tattooed man in the same direction with Zantetsuken.

Jigen's hands are suddenly clammy. Usually he's calm at times like this, but he doesn't like this suspense. Something about the whole situation doesn't add up.

The last clay chunk of the Hannya mask falls to the floor behind them as the five of them cross the threshold.

Behind the cloth divider is a small storeroom. Crates of alcohol line a row of austere metal shelves on one side of the room. The opposite wall is occupied by two deep freezes pushed against each other, humming. 

And in the middle of the room, bound and gagged in his underwear on a frayed and stained futon mattress, is Arsène Lupin III. 

His eyes go wide and he makes some strained noise around the gag.

Jigen thinks it sounds like his name. He's barely in his body as he stumbles forward, carelessly, forgetting the hostages, his gun, _everything_ , except the act of kneeling in front of his partner. 

"Lupin! Lupin you're… you're _alive…_ " Jigen feels like he can't breathe. He shakes his head, knowing somewhere that he needs to come back to reality, that they aren't out of the woods yet. 

"Jigen!" 

Goemon's voice is what he needs. He looks up again and takes Lupin's face in his hands, peels the tape off the thief's lips and pulls a wadded piece of fabric out of his mouth. 

"Ji...en…" Lupin seems unaccustomed to his own tongue. Jigen watches him, warily -- they all do. He looks gaunt, pale. There's a cut on his cheek that's surrounded by a purpling bruise. It looks to be healing badly. 

"Jigen. Let me." Goemon angles his chin toward the tattooed man, and Jigen stands, reluctantly, pointing the magnum at Goemon's hostage so the samurai can take Zantetsuken to Lupin's bonds. 

"Hey! I never said anything about letting him go," Gendo protests, his voice warbling slightly from the pressure of the Luger against his jugular vein. 

"Honey, you never said much about anything," supplies Fujiko. Jigen can't tell if she's in shock or if she's just a superb actor. Maybe a bit of both, he decides. 

He looks back to see Goemon slicing the lock off one of the deep freezes and throwing open the lid. 

"Goe? What are you…" then Jigen sees the samurai emerge with a bag of ice and he understands. 

They all sort of stand and watch, tense, as Lupin lets an ice cube melt in his mouth, his face a mask of bliss as though he hasn't had water in days. 

At length, Lupin speaks. 

"I knew I could count on you guys," he says, panting with the effort of taking in even such a small amount of water. Quieter, he says, "Thank you."

Goemon's putting things together. "So… it was you who sent that text?"

Lupin grins and for a moment it's like he never left. "The same."

"Text?" Gendo sounds deeply offended. "I made sure you didn't have a phone."

“And you did a good job of that," says Lupin, “but one of your guys fell asleep in here a couple weeks ago, and his phone fell out of his pocket. I grabbed it with my foot and stuffed it in the futon. The bastard never even suspected."

Gendo's eyes widen and Jigen sees a bead of sweat roll down his cheek. 

And Jigen’s suddenly grinning like an idiot. It bubbles up from somewhere deep inside him, and he starts laughing and he can’t stop it. He looks at Fujiko and Goemon and they’re smiling, though they don’t seem quite as overwhelmed as he is. 

All he can think is, _he’s alive._

_Lupin’s alive._

_I knew it._

At that, he sobers. _I knew it but I gave up on it._ Guilt rushes in. He steadies himself, and looks at Gendo. 

“This still begs the question -- who the fuck are you, and what did you want with Lupin?”

“Why the hell would I tell you?”

“This’ll be a lot prettier if you don’t force it,” says Fujiko in a voice that could melt butter. She nudges the Luger against him. Jigen can see a reddening impression in the man’s neck. 

“So shoot me, what do I care? They’re gonna come for me anyway.”

“Fujiko-chan… it’s just a simple ransom.” Lupin sighs like he’s disappointed to be caught up in such a _pedestrian_ scheme. “Gendo's nobody. Just a skeezy barkeep with debts to pay. But this fucker--” Lupin gestures to the tattooed man “--he's Yakuza. And the Yakuza want me so bad they can't even see straight. Apparently I've been causing too much chaos in Japan. They were the first to figure out that I wasn't actually dead, and they decided that now would be the time to take me out, while I was separated from my team."

Goemon twitches, his fingers tightening on Zantetsuken. "I should kill him, then," he says, looking at the tattooed man. "How dishonourable, to target a man when he is most vulnerable."

"Wouldn't that be a bit ironic then? I mean… this guy's not exactly having a good day." 

Goemon looks back at Jigen and reddens. 

"I have a better idea," says Lupin. He tries to stand and wobbles dangerously. Jigen rushes forward and Lupin throws an arm around his shoulder. "Mmff… we tie 'em up and leave them time to sort out their emotions. Hmm? The police will be by soon enough for those gunshots."

Lupin smiles. Jigen feels tears welling up in the corners of his eyes and he blinks them away quickly, before anyone notices. Lupin feels skinny, angular, like an underfed dog. Jigen wants to put the other arm around him, but there'll be time for that later. 

They make quick work of the situation, finding all they need in the storeroom. Then they make their exit, grabbing a few liquor bottles of those that remain intact, before stumbling out onto the street, into the night. Jigen hears sirens in the distance, but he doubts that the cops are in such a hurry to make it to this neighbourhood. Lupin's whistling some tune that sounds vaguely familiar and for the first time in six months Jigen feels… _happy._

Fujiko's the only one of them that has money so they follow her back to the hotel she's staying at. Naturally, it's a little more ostentatious than Jigen would have preferred, but for the night he can't complain. 

Lupin half collapses onto one of the sofas in the luxury suite as soon as they get there. His eyes are closed and he looks for a moment too peaceful, as if he's finally finished his life's work and is ready to leave this plane of existence. 

Fujiko fetches him water and Goemon makes a bland meal of white rice and tofu, and they all sit around watching Lupin eat like none of them can quite believe he's real. 

"Would you quit it?" Lupin says weakly, "you're making me self-conscious."

"Are you wounded?" Goemon asks, ignoring the thief's plea. 

"Just my pride," Lupin grumbles, running a hand over the cut on his cheek.

*****

After they're satisfied that Lupin is real, and alive, and not about to collapse on them at any moment, Fujiko retires to the connecting master suite and Goemon to one of the two other bedrooms. Lupin and Jigen sit in the darkened living room, drinking bourbon by the light of the city outside.

"Why'd you do it?" Asks Jigen after a period of silence.

"Why'd I do what?"

"You know. Play dead. It's not like you had to fool anybody."

"Maybe I had to prove to myself that I could still fool _you._ "

Jigen frowns. "You didn't," he says, though the words come out shaky. 

"No?"

"I always knew you were alive."

Lupin reaches into his breast pocket for something and realizes it's not there. Cigarettes. Gendo must have lifted them at some point. 

Jigen pulls out his own pack, offering it to Lupin before picking one out with his teeth.

"Anyway, that's not the reason," he says, looking at his feet.

"You always see right through me." Lupin examines the white cigarette, turning it between his fingers. "I was getting careless. Too many close-calls, too many fingerprints and cigarette butts left behind. I was cocky and I was putting you in danger." He presses at the bruise on his cheek and hisses. "I needed a reset. Needed to make 'em think I was finished so they'd all stop looking."

Jigen's silent for a long time. When he speaks his voice is a low, tired murmur.

"I should be angry with you."

"I wouldn't blame you."

"But I guess I've _been_ angry with you. For months."

"Did it help?"

Jigen looks at Lupin and strikes a match.

He leans forward to light Lupin's cigarette and something in him breaks, and the heat of the flame becomes a million little pinpricks of light exploding out of his chest and he looks at Lupin like he's seeing him for the first time, examines every detail, every freckle and imperfection on the man's skin, the exact angle of his nose, the precise colour of his eyes as they reflect the city lights outside, that glittering wonder of human achievement paling in comparison to this man sitting across from him. 

"Lupin."

"Jigen?"

"There's… there's something I gotta tell you. Something I…"

Lupin looks at him and gives him a little smile. Jigen's voice gets caught in his throat, and Lupin smiles a little wider, and all of a sudden it hits Jigen. 

_He knows! He goddamn… knows. The bastard. The absolute fucking dick. All this time…_

Jigen sighs. 

Lupin laughs. 

"Jigen…"

"Yeah, Lupin."

"I've always known."

" _Always?_ "

"Since you asked me about the job in that bar back in Amsterdam 12 years ago."

Jigen swallows, looks away, then looks back. "And…?"

"You _know._ "

"Say it."

"Come on man, I'm trying to have a cool guy moment here, don't fucking--"

" _Say_ it."

Lupin looks at him and the stars are back in his eyes and Jigen wonders if he did actually die in some shitty apartment in eastern Europe, if this is heaven.

_If we end up in hell, don't wake me._

"Jigen Daisuke. I _fucking_ love you."

"Say it again."

Lupin grins. "I don't wanna wear it out."

Jigen wonders how Lupin could _ever_ wear it out, how those three -- four -- words could _ever_ get old, coming from him, but a part of Jigen understands. A part of him knows he wouldn't want to hear it if it was so freely given. 

"Asshole," he says. He lights his own cigarette on the embers of Lupin's. "I fucking love you, too."

Outside, the world moves on.


End file.
